


Three-Hundred and Sixty-Five Days

by enchanted_book



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Other, Post Game, Sadstuck, everything is normal again except one thing, it fucks up johnny boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:59:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enchanted_book/pseuds/enchanted_book
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After he had finished his school, he would play the same tune on the keyboard piano every single day, even with tears clouding his eyes. Never once had he mucked up on a note.<br/>And after he played that same tune for exactly an hour and eight minutes he would rise out of his chair, and all emotion would suddenly wipe off of his face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three-Hundred and Sixty-Five Days

One year.  
Three-hundred and sixty-five days.  
Twenty-one nine-thousand hours.  
Countless minutes and seconds. 

 

One year John had been doing this subconsciously. Months after the game everything seemed to have returned to normal. That is, but the return of his father. He had done everything in his power to see the return of the man, even reported the missing man to the police once a week. 

Soon the police regretted to inform him that they would never find the boy's father.  
Dave had noticed the boy waking in the middle of the night from night mares and pestering him, their logs grew longer and longer. Soon John couldn't be content with the typing on the screen and Dave would call the younger to make sure everything was okay with him.  
Those phone calls turned into Skype calls.  
And soon, Dave began to worry even more and more as John began falling apart without his parent.  
But he understood, he wouldn't be able to keep it all together if this had happened to him.  
Sure, he barely saw his Bro but he was still there. 

Dave confronted his brother of his friends predicament and suggested a bit away from Washington, from his not so distant memories of his father.  
And so John had come to stay with the Striders for until his father was located, and yet, they knew John's father would never come back. But they wouldn't dare tell the boy. He was so hopeful. 

All of his days became a routine.  
Both him and Dave were cyber schooled and John would naturally finish his work first. 

After he had finished his school, he would play the same tune on the keyboard piano every single day, even with tears clouding his eyes. Never once had he mucked up on a note. 

And after he played that same tune for exactly an hour and eight minutes he would rise out of his chair, and all emotion would suddenly wipe off of his face. 

He would walk right past his friend, and go through the kitchen, organizing everything. Yes, the Strider's now had food thanks to John. 

After he stacked it was like he had taken inventory and he would go out, taking exactly the same amount of money from the jar as usual.  
And he would return with exactly the same foods as always inhabited the cabinets. 

Then, the boy would go through the house and pick everything up, cleaning. He threw away all of the trash on the floor, going into Bro's room to place the occasional smuppet. 

Ah yes, swords falling out of the refrigerator and smuppet falling out of the closet no longer threatened Dave. John had made sure everything was clean...  
He was a ghost, doing the same things every day. 

But there was one thing that would scare Dave, and although Bro showed no interest in what Dave had said about John's midnight activity, once he had seen it himself he knew the boy wasn't the same. 

Every night, at Midnight, the boy would bake a cake. Every day it was a different cake, and everyday it would be presented on the kitchen counter in the morning.  
They thought nothing of it at first, but as time went along so did the habit.  
Dave had tried to snap John out of it but he seemed as of Dave was a fracture of his imagination, a hallucination. 

Dave had sneaked into the raven-haired boy's room multiple times to hear him play that tune every morning, and he had observed. Everything in John's room was white, the keyboard stood out against the rest, the curtains were always drawn, the bed was always made as if he never slept. 

However, Dave knew this to be untrue. John would wake always at 3 AM, and he would feel a shift in his bed. John would burrow into the blankets, silently crying. 

Dave would wrap his arms around the younger and began to wonder if the boy would ever be the same.  
But somehow he knew, none of them would ever be the same.


End file.
